


Insomnia

by Sadistrix



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-08 04:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20316661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadistrix/pseuds/Sadistrix
Summary: Her head feels heavy, muscles sore and worn out, but every time she closes her eyes the strange code is there like it’s been burned into the back of her retinas.





	Insomnia

Sombra stares at the wall of encrypted text, her eyes burning. She’s still tossing programs at it, trying and failing to decipher the supposed transmission from the Iris, but it’s been hours since she actually thought something would work. It’s something to keep her busy at this point. Her head feels heavy, muscles sore and worn out, but every time she closes her eyes the strange code is there too - like it’s been burned into the back of her retinas.

Maybe it’s hijacking her brainstem and Sombra doesn’t even know it yet. She shudders, and picks another decryption string at random.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I’m just great,” Sombra replies, unable to keep the weariness out of her voice completely. She glances across her setup - nothing incriminating that immediately jumps out at her - and turns to face Reaper.

He’s actually wearing normal clothes for once: loose sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Paired with the mask, it’s oddly endearing. Or maybe she’s just tired.

Horny-tired. Because somehow the fabric still manages to cling to his thighs in all the right places and Sombra’s distracted by that far more than should be reasonable, even as exhausted as she is. Her mouth waters and she entertains for just a moment the stolen fantasy of sliding to her knees and getting her hands all over them, and then giving Reaper a blowjob he won’t forget anytime soon.

He probably wouldn’t let her if she tried, but damn if it’s not a nice thought.

“Your thighs just don’t quit, huh, Gabe?” Sombra teases instead. And then worries that she’s said too much.

“You’ve been working on that for four days,” Reaper says, completely ignoring her insomnia-fueled rambling. He gestures to the wrinkled comforter on the floor a few feet from the desk, “and those haven’t been used once.”

“Just like old times.” The blanket and pillow beside her server stacks at home never saw much use either, but now the visual is making Sombra feel odd in a way she can’t quite place and _that_ has to be her brain giving up on her, because she’s not the sentimental type. “What time is it?” she asks before she can start to fall down that rabbit hole.

Reaper’s shoulders go soft like he’s done putting on whatever act Sombra failed to notice in the first place. It’s usually a variation on grumpy; she’ll go with that. “Two am.”

“So someone sent _you_ to make me get some sleep?”

He sighs. That’s so far below his pay grade it should have gone without saying - and that’s if anyone else in Talon even cares how Sombra wants to break her brain this time, also unlikely - but here they are. “Do I look like I’m dressed for official business?”

A lot of responses come to mind, the majority of them making it far too obvious that the most coherent - generously speaking - thought going through Sombra’s brain right now is how much she wants to fuck him, but this time she’s lucky enough to fall into a fit of giggles rather than letting Reaper in on the joke. Imagining the face he’s making behind the mask doesn’t help in the slightest.

“You’re a mess,” Reaper points out, as if Sombra needed to be told. His disappointment is just icing on the cake.

“So you came out here in your PJs to drag me to bed?” She almost starts laughing again, but somehow manages to keep a straight face. And then Sombra wonders if he’d drag her by the hair if she asked nicely and feels herself flush all over just imagining it. “That’s so cute.”

“Sombra.”

“I can’t sleep, okay? Not until I figure out what it is the Iris is broadcasting and,”

She’s not expecting Reaper to come closer, let alone crouch down in front of her computer chair. He puts his hands on either armrest, caging her in, and then Sombra is surprised again to hear him say, “I get it.

“But you’re not making any more progress sitting here staring at it.”

Sombra leans forward and taps a finger against his mask. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

She only narrowly avoids asking him which of his friends in Overwatch used to be the one to rescue _him_ from his own head, but Reaper seems to hesitate anyway. Sombra thinks about leaning just a bit further and putting her head down on his shoulder, if only to see if his hoodie is as soft as it looks.

When he does finally respond it’s so quietly that Sombra almost misses it at first. The kind of solemn he gets when she reminds him of his past - whatever parts of it that don’t make him homicidally angry - but he’s trying not to show it. There’s at least one memory there - always just out of her reach. “I am.”

It’s not new information, not even really an admission, but Sombra’s apparently sleep deprived enough that it seems like a rare scrap of honesty anyway. “Uh huh.” The new curiosity momentarily burns up the place in her head obsessing over the Iris’ transmission. And it should probably worry her that her first thought isn’t intel or gossip or anything else she could use, but a strange desire to know who Gabe was outside of everything she’s dug up on him. One that’s been growing a little too strong for her liking lately. She does let her head fall then, but it’s less a decision than an inevitability.

The undecipherable message is still there, haunting the space behind her eyes, but there’s also the musky blood-and-gunpowder smell of Reaper. And that part is familiar enough to even be nice.


End file.
